


Rising Like Smoke

by chamberswashere



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Hookah, M/M, NC-17, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-20 16:57:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamberswashere/pseuds/chamberswashere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malik misses spending time with Altair.  But ever since he lost his arm, he has never been allowed on top.  He finds a way to dominate Altair, exhausting them both on the bureau's comfy pillows.  First chapter is clean.  Second chapter will be smut smut smut smut smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wood Crumbles

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be one chapter full of silliness and butt things. Mmmm... Maybe some fluff too. But it turned out to be a little more than that. I hope that isn't a problem for anyone. The smut will come in the second chapter which will be written soon enough, I promise. A few days at most. 
> 
> This first one is completely clean, however, and if you wish to avoid the porn, it can stand alone. It's rather silly, but also kind of sad. Angst always finds a way into my fics. Whatever. Comments are welcomed and feedback is encouraged.
> 
> I CAN'T WAIT FOR THE SECOND CHAPTER.

The sun wordlessly woke Malik that morning, streaming in through the high window of the bureau’s office room. He had fallen asleep face first into his most recent project: a map of the rich district of Jerusalem. The main reason he made these maps was to make sure the other assassins didn’t get lost in the city. Everything that he did had a practical use in the end. But he began to find that he quite enjoyed it and often spent much more time on the maps than necessary.

He sat up and stretched his legs out, which had been locked in the legs of his stool all night during his slumber. There were little smudges in the corner where his face had pressed against the wet ink. With a sigh, he rolled up the parchment and placed it on the shelf behind him. He cleaned up the mess of ink that had spilled on the counter and, with some difficulty, the ink that stuck to and dried on his arm.

Taking the drawing and cleaning supplies to their proper shelf, Malik noticed his wooden hookah. This object was very dear to him and was the only reminder he had of his father. It had originally belonged to him long before Malik was born. When the stoic, old man died, it was the one thing left of his really worth keeping. All of their other belongings had either been stolen or torn to pieces. During his adolescent days training to become an assassin, he would often spend his spare time with Altair smoking out of it. They would usually end up on his bed or on the floor completely naked, cradling each other and leaving kisses all over.

He couldn’t remember the last time he used the thing properly. Before the incident in Solomon’s Temple, their recreational activities were rather numerous. But vigorous training put a distance between them that didn’t leave any room for intimacy. The hookah gathered dust in Malik’s room; Altair became aloof and unaware of his advances. At some point, he didn’t quite remember exactly when, he simply gave up. Then he lost Kadar. But he couldn’t get rid of the thing. Clearly visible as if displayed on a lighted pedestal, that wooden relic was a constant reminder of what they used to have.

Malik went into the corner of his bedroom and lifted the lids off of the storage bins he usually kept his food in, frowning at the lack of things he found there. He rummaged through of each of them and came out victorious with four eggs and a loaf of bread. This will do just fine, he thought. There were also some grapes underneath his counter that the rafiq in Damas had brought him out of kindness yesterday.

 _Leaving his bureau to attend to me… What a fool_ , he thought.

Usually he ate much more than this, but he had no plans to exert himself today so there was no point in worrying about finding the energy to do so. He prepared his omelet like usual with a slight smile on his face, looking forward to nibbling on this little morning meal. Cooked to perfection, he put the egg concoction on a plate and set it aside. But when he sliced in to the bread, he dropped his head in disappointment at the green moss that had infested his precious breakfast. With a sigh, Malik gently set the knife aside and stared longingly at his now cold eggs.

But Malik wasn’t about to let this minor setback keep him from enjoying his day off. When he was younger, he wanted to go on adventures and be heroic and glorious. Having had enough adventure for a lifetime, all he wanted now was a normal life. This, however, was something that he could not have. This was why he cherished the “easy” days. Because there was no guarantee that another one would come. Stuffing the moldy bread into the trash, he took his small money purse and filled it with a few extra coins.

Leaving the bureau was always an ordeal, but he did so often enough that his desire for relaxation did not keep him from getting to the market. After tying the coins to his belt and taking care to make sure it was properly secured, he ran towards the fountain and used its base to leap up as high as he could. With his one hand planted firmly on the wooden support beam just underneath the exit, he steadied his feet on the wall and pushed himself up just a bit further to grab the ledge that led outside. He relied solely on the power of his right arm to lift his body enough for his legs to swing up and over gracefully.

Malik stood up and brushed the dust off his robes, making his way down the ladder to the sprawling streets of Jerusalem. Having one arm made life more difficult, but he had learned to operate and was even able to find a bit of amusement from it. People had mixed reactions when they met him on the streets. Beggars who knew him avoided him, merchants sometimes offered him discounts, and guards didn’t see him as a threat, allowing him to move freely. When he was out, he often had a book or some kind of antique with him. Thus, he was dubbed the one-armed scholar and he didn’t really mind. He was even beginning to take a liking to the title.

The market isn’t far from the bureau and soon he is making his way through the crowds, observing the merchandise in the stores. He was lured to a street vendor by the smell of freshly baked bread and cured meat. The huge hunk of flesh had been skewered and was spinning over a fire, a preparation for the lunch hour. Maybe he would send one of the novices to get him lunch later. Approaching the cart, his stomach growled at the sight of the fruit, bread, yogurt, fish, and eggs.

“Malik! How very good to see you! When was the last time you came outside? Oh how rude of me. How goes the life of everyone’s favorite scholar?” It was the owner of the cart, a man named Haaz that lived in a small village a few miles outside the city walls.

“I have seen better days,” Malik chuckled, gesturing with his stump.

“Haven’t we all?” Haaz replied sadly, probably remembering some tragic event of his past. “Well, why brood? Why don’t we get down to business? What would you like? If you are in need of produce, my son is manning our little shop in the usual spot. My daughter came up with this idea of cooking food and selling it for a little extra income. Smart girl. I do not know where I would be without her!”

“I think it is a wonderful idea as well. I cooked myself an omelet not too long ago but found that my bread had been sitting out too long.” Malik fumbled with his pouch and place a few coins on the table. “I’ll eat whatever you can give me for this much.”

“Yes sir! Aman!”

“Yes, father!” A young, pretty girl with big, gleaming eyes poked her head out from around the corner of the cart and smiled at Malik. He smiled back and bowed his head politely.

“Get this hungry man some fish, cheese, and bread! Oh! And some wine! Keep your coins, Malik,” he said, putting the coins back in the pouch and retying it on Malik’s belt himself.

“Thank you, Haaz,” he said unquestioningly.

“It is always a pleasure to do business with you, Malik.” He paused and looked at him as if pondering something. “You know, I am looking for someone to marry my daughter to. I would offer her to you if you would but accept her.”

Malik was taken aback by the sudden proposal that he almost didn’t believe his own ears.

“What?”

As he put together Malik’s breakfast plate, he gestured for him to sit on a barrel and continued his proposal. “As her father, I want her to be happy and I think I know you well enough to trust that you will be a good husband.”

“You surely do not want to give your daughter to a cripple. I am-”

“She is pretty, is she not?” Haaz interrupted.

“Yes, very pretty. A jewel of a girl. I will not deny that but-”

“Then perhaps we can settle the matter? Preparations for the wedding can begin today!”

“Why are you being so persistent? My life is far too busy for such affairs. Also, marrying me would put her in danger and make her feel alone. She is much safer in your hands. Besides, I am not interested in such affairs; I have no time or concern for women.”

Haaz laughed heartily at this and Aman came out with three small fish, grilled to perfection, a bit of cheese and two slices of warm bread. “Here you are, sir,” she bowed and put the food on the plate in front of her father. Taking the plate from him, she presented it to Malik, leaving a small kiss on his cheek and disappearing behind the cart. This was quite a surprise but he soon realized that she was in on it too. Perhaps she had suggested it in the hopes that success would help their business. Whatever the case, Malik knew he could not accept the offer.

“What do you mean not interested?” Haaz exclaimed with another one of his tremendous laughs as Malik set the plate on his lap and lifted a fish to his mouth hungrily. Then the merchant sent a knowing look at him and in turn received warning glare. “I see. Well, then I suppose I should stop pestering you.”

“Thank you. I am sorry I cannot do you the honor of joining your family.” Malik knew that was the real reason Haaz was offering his daughter to him, to keep their relationship strong and utilize more resources. The poor man was going out of business because the crusaders and Templars were beginning to prefer the services of his rivals.

“Ah, no no no. Do not be sorry. There is no reason for it. You are a good customer and I should treat you as such. I was out of line. If you ever change your mind, know that the offer still stands.” He cocked his head in thought. “At least until I find another worthy bachelor.”

Finishing the meal, he set the plate aside and stood to pat the man’s shoulder. “Thank you for your hospitality, Haaz. And I am most flattered you consider me worthy of such an offer. But I am afraid I will remain a bachelor for the rest of my life.” There was a touch of sadness and regret in his words as he spoke.

Haaz raised an eyebrow quizzically. “Surely you have been in love before. Why should a handsome man like you remain lonely?”

“The one I love is… what is the word? Distant, I suppose. Forever lost to me,” he finished, accepting wine from Aman. Before vanishing again, she stared directly at him for one long moment.

“Aman! Give the man some space!”

“Yes, father! I am sorry, sir.” And she flew away from their sight.

Haaz squeezed Malik’s shoulder and talked into his ear, “Whoever he is, he must be very good to make you ignore women for him.” Malik twitched, which made the loud man guffaw once more. “I wish you the best of luck in your adventures, my friend.”

“Thank you,” he replied, nervously finishing off the wine.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for not getting right into the smut. Instead, you got a little fluff and some teasing. My fingers moved on their own and I think a part of me really wants to establish the characters more. The good news is that my headcanon for this pairing is solidifying so you can expect more from me in the future. I hope I can get to it next chapter. I think I will. That's the plan anyway, and you know how well plans work.

Before making his way through the market, Malik left an order for two weeks’ worth of groceries with Haaz and made sure to pay him the proper amount.  He told him that it would be picked up by a couple of his students and not allowing him to refuse the money this time.  A little shaken from his encounter with his enthusiastic merchant friend, he left undisturbed and looked forward to the rest of his leisurely day. 

Malik had never considered getting married and starting a family with anyone, not even with Altair if such a strange thing were possible.  He had always thought his life would center on his work for the order as a rafiq.  Even before his fate was solidified into his current position, all he ever saw in his future was being an assassin in whatever way Al Mualim saw fit.  He would do as he was bid and he would do it well until fate decided otherwise.

On his way back to the bureau, Malik remembered the old, barely used hookah sitting on his shelf and thought about buying a new one.  He decided to drop by a small stand that sold curios and antiques.  The owner there was also familiar with him and although he was not as boisterous as Haaz, Malik still received a warm, excited welcome.

“Malik, my dear man!  What brings you to my humble trade stand today?  Care to take a look at these clay pots I retrieved from an artisan in Damas?  Look at the color and brightness of this one!  The intricate design is most splendid.  It is a very sturdy, useful pot too!”  Malik laughed when he realized he knew exactly who had made them.

“I have visited Damas a few times already and have several pots of my own.  But I agree with you, Tahir.  They are very good pots, indeed.”

In one corner of the stand, Malik was drawn to another item, one that seemed to be hidden and paled in comparison to the display of the brand new pottery neatly placed together in rows.  Making his way around to get a closer look, he found that it was even more beautiful up close.  Tahir seemed to be a little disappointed in his inability to sell Malik the pots he clearly wanted to get rid of.  However, he was happy to sell anything and was ready to alter his sales pitch.  But it seemed he didn’t need to; Malik was already entranced.

“What is this made of, Tahir?”

“Marble.  It came from a rich man’s auction in Cairo and is in mint condition, I assure you.  I have had this item for a while and have had some difficulty finding a buyer.  Might you be interested?”

“Depends on the price.  However, I am flexible.”

 “It is worth a fortune,” Tahir began.

“I thought as much.”

The item that had captivated Malik was a white marble hookah, expertly decorated with red and green paint and golden studs.  The shaft of the hookah was carved in pieces, alternating between dome and pillar, like the minaret of the richest mosque in the world.  The hose grummet was elegantly long and slender, extending above the bowl at the top.  Both the base and the bowl shared an inverted pattern of ornately adorned leaves and flower petals.  It was perfect.

“But that bag of coins will suffice,” Tahir finished

Malik looked at his meager savings and then up at the merchant quizzically.  “For an item as beautiful as this?”

“You see, nobody else seems interested and I have no use for it.  It just needs to be cleaned up a bit.  That shouldn’t be a problem, no?  I’ll throw in a hose for free,” he said jovially with an air of finality.

“Are you sure about this?” Malik questioned again, untying his pouch of coins.

“Absolutely.”

The trade was completed and soon Malik was holding his new prize as he climbed up the ladder to the rooftops.  Once at the entrance to his beloved bureau, he wondered how he would get down without breaking it.  In all honesty, he was surprised it survived his climb up.  His stump wasn’t long enough to clutch to the hookah’s handle and free his hand for climbing.  Instead, he sat down with his legs dangling over the grate and hopped forward, bracing himself for the land. 

Under normal circumstances, Malik would have no problem bringing items in from the outside world.  But this hookah was precious to him and the possibility of breaking it racked his nerves, rooting him to the spot.  Staring longingly at its design and the brightness of the paint, he took it inside and set it on the countertop.  But he was surprised to find he was not alone.

“Altair!  What are you doing here?”

The man in question jumped from the fright and turned his head to meet Malik’s eyes.  Instead of jumping to the other side of the counter to steal like an ordinary thief, Altair had tried to get a view of the desk’s contents by leaning over it, and had been rummaging through its contents upside down.  He almost lost the grape he had just popped into his mouth. 

“Those are my grapes!” Malik shouted, indignant.  “What right do you think you have to just barge in here and take my food?”

“I was hungry and couldn’t find any in your room.  There weren’t any coins either,” Altair replied, dispirited.

“You went looking for my money too?!”

Malik was now furious and had made his way behind the counter to confront the burglar quite loudly, slamming things as he went.  But he resisted the urge to grab Altair by the throat and spit curses when he saw the fatigue and helplessness plaguing him.  He instantly began to hate his weakness but he could not help but remember how much he loved that face, though he would never admit it openly to anyone other than Altair himself.  He also could not forget how many times he had kissed that face, and how long it had been since he had seen it last and could do something about the state that it was in.

“I am sorry, Altair,” Malik said with a sigh.  “But I do not have any food or money.” 

He thought guiltily about his purchase just a few moments ago as Altair’s head and shoulders slumped, but he cast the thought aside when he realized what he could do with it.  Not only was Altair discouraged and desperate as a result of that, but he also had a method of making his brother do his bidding.  Like all things, Altair would have to work for certain privileges and in the end would learn a valuable lesson.  With a quick swipe of his hand, Malik threw back Altair’s hood and grabbed his hair, prying him away from the countertop to get a good look at his face.

Holding Altair’s chin between thumb and forefinger, he saw his eyes glow with surprise but also expectation.  That was a look that Malik had grown to hate and it further solidified his decision to seek what he finally deserved.  Even before the incident at Solomon’s Temple, Altair showed incredible arrogance in everything he did.  His ego was inflated with every praise he received from Al Mualim, every man killed and job well done.  All the while, Malik did his best to abide by the tenants of the creed without gloating.

Nothing that had ever happened to Malik even came close to matching the intensity of the anger he felt towards the very same man he had professed his love to so many times.  In those cold, dark ruins, running from Robert with stolen treasure in hand, Malik wished he could kill Altair to make up for what he had lost and what he was going through emotionally at the time.  He was still upset and he had every right to be.  The time that passed since then had helped to nullify the initial rage and allowed him to seek the kind of revenge that was more practical and could satisfy them both.

“What exactly are you hungry for, Altair?” Malik whispered, less than an inch away.  It was more of a taunt than a question, serving its purpose by making Altair twitch.  He slowly moved his hand to grab him by the back of his head again, maintaining the distance between them. 

Altair’s reply came in between breaths.  “I’m so… famished that I-”  He paused to bite his lip and silence the moan that Malik had been fishing out.  “I could eat a man whole.”

He narrowed his eyes at this remark, suspicious of Altair’s intentions, but ready to use it against him if need be.  After all, this was _his_ bureau and by stepping foot into it Altair was at _his_ mercy whether he liked it or not.  He kept his grip on Altair’s hair firm and moved his own face to the side so he could whisper into his ear.  Letting their faces touch for just a moment, he made Altair’s body lurch again and tilted the angle of his own head so that his lips delicately scraped his victim’s ear.

“You are just going to have to wait, Altair.”


End file.
